


OverLords of New York

by AprilFooled



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Abuse of innocent KitKats, Crack, Evil Plans, Evil minions - Freeform, Gen, World Domination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-06-11 15:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15318780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AprilFooled/pseuds/AprilFooled
Summary: Cities: are conqueredShots: are drunkShit: goes downYou better be hyped.You. Better.





	1. Friendship makes life bear-able

Peter stood on the rooftop and wondered if his conviction that he could fly was indicative of a nervous breakdown. Then he thought, nah, perfectly reasonable I mean shit if you cant believe in your trippin' flying dreams what can you believe in? Once Peter had reassured himself that flinging himself off a twenty story building was the most logical move since rook to D4, Peter realised that he'd been standing on the roof waiting for Nathen for quite a while and, if he was going to be honest, had dressed more for max tortured brooding effect than keeping all ten of his tiny toes protected against the nights chill. 

Peters mobile buzzed; it was a text from Nathen. Nathen wasn't coming, Nathen had better things to do like work on his 178 page PowerPoint presentation: Presidency, Precedence and Presi-dance-y: how my love of ordinal numbers and interpretive dance make me the leader of tomorrow. Peter huffily turned to go. Unfortunately he turned the wrong way and fell off the roof. 

Verily did he falleth a wee birdie tossed upon the storm that is life, a leaf spiraling in the Autumn winds, a pebble toed off the kerb by a mucky boot. And that mucky boot was called fate, for who was passing by at that very moment but a certain murdery minded watch doctor! Sylar was eating a Kit-Kat but hadn't bothered to break it in half as the good lord intended, which I think proves exactly what kind of monster we are dealing with. 

Peter didn't yet know Sylar, or that Sylar was a murdery murderfaced Kit-Kat defiler which was why he felt bad about probably crushing him if the super awesome flying thing didn't work out, so with that in mind he started to scream like a knock-off Lois Lane. Then he stopped falling, just stopped and floated in the air like an olive in a martini glass. Just inches below him Sylar stepped neatly backwards and let Peter drift slowly to the ground. This wasn't done out of concern for Peter; Sylar just figured that the easiest way to ruin someones day was to thwart their suicide attempt. 

To his great surprise though, Peter leapt up beaming "I can fly! Ha take that Nathen! Take that Mum! And they thought I would fail" Peter noticed Sylar and grasped him by the shoulders, still smiling in a way that would have unsettled someone less batshit looneytunes than Sylar "Did you see me? I knew it I knew I had a destiny." 

Never one to deny himself credit, Syalr was about to tell Peter that, actually, he was the one with the destiny and the awesome powers when Peter abruptly took off running down the street. Thirty minutes later and Sylar still didn't regret breaking his no running except for buses, racing to a loved one at an airport or emergency murder situations rule for Peter. Because watching Peter, even if he did not yet know Peters name, jump off children's play equipment was fucking hilarious. 

Peter had landed on his face for the thirty seventh time when he looked up and saw Sylar staring at him. Peter looked back at the play equipment and sighed mournfully then he trudged over to Sylar and said "I'm not crazy am I? I mean you saw me fly." 

Sylar felt conflicted; on the one hand he was a natural born troll and never missed an opportunity to mess with someones head but on the other hand if the whole I can fly thing was real being an absolute dick to someone didn't make luring them into a dark alleyway to rip open their skulls and steal their powers any easier. This Sylar knew from experience. So he arranged his features to look contrite.  
"Sorry, that wasn't you" He puffed out his chest and tried to look impressive "It was me. I'm super powerful" Peter burst into tears. And they weren't manly tears either. Sylar felt a bit awkward and repressed a comment about the weather, which is probably just indicative of the author projecting her Britishness onto other people. He patted Peter on the back and then let himself be glomped, it was kinda like being snuggled by a giant kitten and Sylar was a man with a pro-kitten agenda.

Peter calmed himself down after several intimate minutes that made the local burn your gays association stock up on fresh lighterfluid. He released Sylar from the glomp and smiled sadly "I guess I'm just the type of guy who was never meant to be special" Peter began to walk away. 

"Wait" Sylar shouted, which was kind of uncomfortable for Peter who had only taken a step away. Sylar wasn't really sure where to go from there because his only goal was to keep Peter close until he could figure out if it was worth it to murder him but thankfully Sylar's agile mind dredged up an answer from the book "Friends, Family and you: how to keep your unhealthy relationships just functioning enough that you don't actually have to put the work in to fix them". The book advises you to fill awkward pauses with interesting or inspiring quotes from the last book you read. 

"Hey, are you wearing space pants?"

"...What?" 

"Because your ass looks out of this world" The last book Sylar had read was "How to pick up chickzzz: The ultimate guide to keepin' it reelz by Dr Smooth Flashman". Peter stared at Sylar in a way that many will interpret as subtle homoerotic longing but was actually closer to blank disbelief. But if you insist upon sexual tension in your fanfiction so be it: Peter stared at Sylar with sexy blank disbelief. Rawrrrrr. 

"Do you want a drink. I think I need a drink. God, Nathan was right, I am going crazy" Peter said, Sylar was pleased but not surprised; he had always had faith in the work of Dr Smooth Flashman.

18 hours later

Peter was aroused by the sent of bubblegum, not sexually, he had too many dark Bubblegum memories for that. To clarify, I meant he woke up. Coupled with the scent of bubblegum was the headache that prowled round his skull like an angry panther. He cracked his eyes open a millimeter. Thankfully the room he was in was very dimly lit. Peter tried to find stability on the rolling surface he'd been sleeping on, his head swimming like an Olympic gold medalist, and looked around. He saw bears in the dim light, hundreds of bears arranged in circles around him and the enormous pile of bears he was ensconced in. Sylar was sprawled on his back, clutching a bear bleeding stuffing. 

"Hey, put your hands UP!" Enter the Mall Security Guard. Defining characteristic: not payed enough to deal with this.


	2. Chapter the second

Peter whimpered as the Security Guards voice penetrated his skull in a manner not dissimilar to the behavior of a cephalopod in niche Japanese pornography. Syalr Didn't look around or open his eyes but with a flick of his wrist the security guard was slammed against the wall. He started on his signature serial killing move (Sylar really loved that whenever someone saw a cracked open skull they would think "Sylar") but his hangover severely affected his aim. 

"Oh God" screamed the Guard "not there anywhere but there, torture me however you want but my Mother will never forgive me if i cant give her grand kids."

Both Sylar and Peter were sent into spasms by the Guards shrill voice. 

Peter whispered "Oh God, Coffee, Coffee, please..."

It was so pitiful that the Guard stopped screaming and Sylar swam through the duck pond of bears surrounding Peter, to comfortingly stroke Peters softy soft emo hair. Sylar glared at the Guard who was forever grateful that he had taken to wearing his Grandmothers incontinence knickers in lieu of buying his own underwear. 

"Okay I'm going to get you that coffee" said the Guard softly and thanks to the ultra absorbent nature of his protective granny wear not even a single golden drop of urine escaped from his underwear Alcatraz. Sylar stared after the Guard trying to think of a way to brutally murder someone very very quietly. You think all your murder related problems are gonna be solved when you become telekinetic but life is never that simple so, kids, that's why you should never make fun drinking friends. Only friendless losers can be full time ace murderers. Peter, still almost catatonic with pain, nuzzled himself deeper into his bear pit, a sight so goddamm adorable that Sylar minded a little less that his homicidal tendencies had been momentarily curtailed.

The Guard henceforth to be known as Jason carried a box of doughnuts in one hand and a pallet of coffee in the other. He hadn't called the police, hadn't called anyone, to tell them about the two bear deviants, not because he was afraid of dragging more people into a dangerous situation, or even because he suffered from an abject fear of phoning someone and then having the line break up and things getting really awkward... no Jason was bored, and as most workers on a twelve hour shift know; bowing to evil>boredom. Jason navigated the doorway of the Build-a-Bear Workshop with the carefree shimmy of a man who had just replaced his nappy. The nappy was put to use almost immediately as the coffee flew of of it cups and floated en mass across to Peters open mouth. Sylar scowled, he wasn't doing that. He scowled even more as he remembered when he tried to murder Peter. I bet you can;t guess how that went. 

12 hours earlier

It went terribly. I mean it was almost like some hack fanfic writer was setting the odds against him in a lame attempt at situational humour. They'd been drinking like fish, Japanese koi fish, and like all the movers and the shakers of the world they had been drinking Pina Coladas, they were walking from one bar the bar across the street which had a Piranah Tank that took up a whole wall, yeah how cool is that?, their Pina Coladas decanted into those tiny clear plastic cups that cheap bars keep around purely to shame the people who only drink orange juice. 

Life was good, except Sylar was craving a Kit-Kat (that monster), then it began to rain. Peter began to giggle and due to the fact that he was aligned with the Forces Of Good his alcohol tolerance was at least 20% lower than Sylars, this explains but by no means condones his actions.

"Hey, Sylar, Sylar!"

"Yeah"

"Sylar, Its like the song, the song, Sylar!"

Sylar felt a wave of dread creep up his spine, then Peter began to sing. He sung a noble, no, a transcendent song about Pina Coladas, walking in the rain and a mutual infidelity fail. Badly. When Sylar heard the beloved classic, the national anthem of Australia, being slaughtered something snapped inside him. It was the baby crocodile he had eaten as a child that lived on inside him, its growth halted by the chemicals in the Lucky Charms Sylar ate every morning, in other news Sylar got really angry, so he decided to snap Peters neck. They were in a crowded street so Sylar took out his camera; if he filmed it people would just think they were shooting a low budget remake of The Exorcist. 

Meanwhile Peter had stopped singing and was staring at a Hot-Dog stand because:

1\. the Author has seen a lot of films where New York is populated entirely by Hot-Dog stands and beautiful, plucky Advertising Executives who should Hurry Up And Realise That Their Career Will Never Bring Them The Fulfillment A MAN Can Provide.

2.Peter was a very hungry boy.

Peter looked down, he was holding a drink in one hand and a tiny umbrella in the other, there was no way he would be able to hold a Hot-Dog, let alone summon the fine motor skills to guide the hot, steaming treat to his greedy mouth. He looked at the Hot-Dog stand and focused as hard as his slightly blurred vision would allow. 

Sylar took a deep breath and prepared to strike when suddenly a Hot-Dog Vendor bowled him over, screaming, this wouldn't have been much of a problem had he not been followed by his Stand and five prospective customers. Sylar lay on the pavement, crumpled sadly by man, metal and bun. 

Peter started to grin, Peter had powers so Nathan could stick that in his boring "oh superpowers don't exist silly" pipe and smoke it! Only one thing could be said in such circumstances.

"Cosmic!" Peter exclaimed. 

He turned to rescue Sylar from his nest of Hot-Dog-struction but Sylar wasn't moving, in fact, nobody was moving. At first Peter suspected a citywide game of Statues, it wasn't, it was a hoopy frood with a sword and bodacious hair, but Peter was yet to know that as Peter was yet to know many things.

The hoopy frood stood in front of Peter, staring at him intently, "Peter Pertrelli, I came from the future to offer you vague advice and here it is; save the Cheerleader, save the World" 

Peter tried too look impressed but was too confused "I'll try, I guess? Any clues on which Cheerleader?"

The future badass shrugged "meh, you'll figure it out; everything is connecte-" He clocked Sylar. "Oh, Fuck."

This was said with great and profound feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gasp!  
> Has the timeline already been messed with?  
> Will we every find out why Peter and Sylar are in the Build-a-Bear Workshop? And will we reach such a state of disgust and apathy that we don't even care when we do?


End file.
